


Posh

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [71]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bartender Clint, Clint has a terrible sense of humour, Dating, First Dates, Flirting, Happily Ever After, IronHawk - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, Precious Tony Stark, Relationship Negotiations, Texting, Tony is a smol bean, awkward first meetings, disaster Clint Barton, rich tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29498553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Clint is a bartender from the poor side of town, while Tony is spoiled, rich and maybe just a little oblivious.Immediate attraction leads to to dating and lots of kisses, but eventually the differences in their lifestyles start to pull them apart when Clint's not comfortable at fancy parties and Tony hasn't ever eaten fast food.Clint's too head over heels for his posh boyfriend to let him go, is Tony head over heels enough to meet him halfway?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Tony Stark
Series: Short Stories! [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/786345
Comments: 34
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

The new guy wandering into the bar at half past eleven had no business being on this side of town wearing those sorta clothes, and his attempts to mix in with the redneck, roughneck crowd were painfully useless. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a three piece suit and carefully coiffed hair, diamonds glinting at his cufflinks and shiny _shiny_ shoes. Everyone else wore what they’d worn to work-- jumpsuits, coveralls, greasy jeans and scuffed up boots but here came Mr. Fancy Pants putting a handkerchief to his nose as he passed a group of construction workers who looked like they’d eat someone like him for lunch. 

Clint was chewing on a toothpick and wiping down the bar, glancing around the room to make sure the rabble rousers that _always_ started a fight weren’t gearing up to start one right that second, and when he saw the new guy decked out in all that finery, his first instinct was to roll his eyes. 

_Second_ instinct was to do a double take fast enough to make his neck crack in six different places. 

_Ho ho holy crap_ was this guy hot. And not like, college kid hot or looking for trouble hot. Just big eyes and a pretty mouth and real fitted pants _hot_. 

_Wow_. 

Thankfully Clint was at least somewhat professional, and when the newcomer hopped onto a stool and offered him a friendly smile, he managed to smile right back.

“Hi.” Apparently driving gloves went along with diamond cuff links and shiny shoes, and Clint was hard pressed not to roll his eyes all over again when a pair was placed neatly on the bar. “My name is Tony, and I would like a dram of your best single malt, please and thank you.” 

“Heya Tony.” Clint twisted his tongue around the toothpick and poked it to the other side of his mouth. “A _dram_ , huh?” 

“Please and thank you.” Up close Tony was even hotter, but he had that high class shine that meant he was used to being called _gorgeous_ and not _fuckable_ , though fuckable was certainly a good adjective. “Whichever your best is.” 

“Uh-huh.” Clint reached behind him and grabbed two bottles. “Alright pretty boy, you can have a shot of my best Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey or a shot of my not best Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey. What’s it gonna be?” 

“A shot of whiskey isn’t the same as a dram of scotch whisky.” Tony’s nose wrinkled up curiously. “Anything from Scotland? Or Europe at all?” 

“Colin.” Clint nodded his head towards the burly redhead currently cheating his way through a game of poker. “He’s from Scotland, still got the accent and everything.” 

“Oh my god.” Tony laughed out loud, cheeks flushing and dark eyes _sparkling_ and Clint had the oddest feeling of butterflies in his stomach. “Okay, I guess that’s what I get for trying to disappear into a bar like this and then ordering the most pretentious thing on the menu.” 

“No, you ordered the most pretentious thing _not_ on the menu.” Clint fought against a smile when Tony laughed again. “And not to be an asshole, but someone like you would never be able to disappear in a bar like this.” 

“Is it the diamond cuff links?” the little brunette checked his wrists and clicked his tongue. “I knew they were too flashy but Pepper insisted I wear them anyway. I should have left them in the limo so I didn’t stick out quite so much. That would have worked.” 

“Cufflinks or not, you would never blend in here.” Clint poured Tony a shot of whiskey and pushed it across the bar. “Try not to be too disappointed in this, huh?” 

Tony did that crinkle nose smile thing again and Clint just chuckled and moved down the bar to get refills started for the table in the back. They were getting busy now, the band starting up in earnest and alcohol flowing as the weekend partiers showed up ready to get _wasted_. The bartender managed just one more glance at the posh customer before the night descended into carefully orchestrated chaos. 

Clint was a top notch bartender, flashy enough to keep things interesting, fast enough to keep the waitresses happy, flirty enough to keep everyone laughing and filling his tip jar all night long. At just about five foot ten he didn’t intimidate the bigger guys, with big hands and thick biceps he didn’t let anyone intimidate the _servers_ and with a band-aid over his nose and perpetually amused blue eyes, he seemed all sorts of harmless for the new to drinking crowd who had no idea what they wanted to order and always tittered nervously when asked. 

Truth be told, he was a little bit _fascinating_ , and Tony sat at the end of the bar and watched Clint work while sipping on honest to god terrible whiskey for close to two hours. At some point, he had to answer his phone because Tony had pissed off several people by just abandoning tonight’s board meeting and walking out the door but damn-- _damn_ he hadn’t been able to keep it together in that stuffy office for one more minute and for right now, having a drink where no one knew his name was the perfect sort of therapy. 

It was nice in the bar, loud enough to cover the repeated ringing of his phone, crowded enough to allow Tony a measure of anonymity despite the occasional looks his fancy shoes and coat got him. The floors were sticky which was… okay that was gross, but somehow even sticky floors and cheap whiskey seemed better than expensive single malt and over stuffed fancy upholstered chairs in the lobby of a high end hotel. 

Plus… plus the _view_ was better here. 

“You still here?” Clint sprayed down the counter when he had a quick second, wiping away the various mess of about a hundred different drinks and checking inventory on garnishes. “Thought the band would’a scared you right out the door. They’re awful tonight.”

“Oh, I try not to leave before finishing a drink.” Tony straightened up with a smile when the cute bartender sent him a glance. “And uh-- I have not yet finished my drink.” 

“Good god, you still sipping at that shot!” Clint laughed out loud. “If it’s that bad just up and leave, no one’s gonna be offended!” 

“You would.” Tony shrugged and Clint snorted. “ _You’d_ be offended if you poured me a drink and I didn’t drink it.” 

“So long as you pay your tab and throw a dollar in the tip jar, I’m not offended at anything you do.” Clint took the still half full shot glass and pitched it, grabbed a fresh glass and tossed some ice, some vodka and half a pop of cranberry juice into it before shoving it towards Tony. “There. Try that one, on the house.” 

“Vodka cranberry?” Tony sipped at it, made a pleased noise and took a bigger drink. “This reminds me of college.” 

“Oh so you weren’t a pretentious prick through college, huh? That came later?” Clint waved to a waitress when she held up two fingers and dug out two bottles from the cooler. “You don’t seem like the type to pound cheap vodka and dollar store cranberry juice.” 

“It--” Tony blushed and Clint hung his head when it was about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “It was top shelf vodka and I own a cranberry farm in Wisconsin so we had the fresh juice flown in for the parties.” 

“What the fuck?” Clint breathed a disbelieving laugh. “What the hell is a posh pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” 

“I wanted to disappear a little bit.” Tony admitted slowly, pausing when the waitress came to pick up her beer. “Sometimes the spotlight gets a little… hot… so I wanted to get somewhere I wouldn’t be recognized, somewhere I could blend in.” 

“So you picked this dive?” Clint threw some ingredients in a blender and set it to whirring while pulling a chilled glass and pouring a frothy beer. “What makes you think you blend in here?” 

“I am noticing that maybe I don’t blend in here at all.” This admission was just as slow as the first, except this time Tony’s brow wrinkled too and Clint felt bad for bringing it up. “But the music isn’t half bad--”

“--really? Cos my _ears_ are bleeding.” 

“--and the liquor’s good.” Tony’s mouth curved up into a smile Clint couldn’t help returning. “So’s the view. There’s worse places to spend a few hours.” 

“The view is good.” the bartender gestured around at the crowded walls and rickety tables, the dark paint and window that may or may not have been clean at some point. “What view?” 

Tony only raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, and after a minute Clint realized, “Oh shit, are you talking about _me_?” 

“Does uh-- does anyone ever buy you a drink, Clint?” 

Clint blew out a quick breath and poured the blended drink, pushed it towards a waitress then folded his arms and leaned back against the bar to watch Tony for a minute. “Yeah-- here’s the thing, Mr. Tony Stark. Bartending is all about getting other people drunk all night, so I tend not to do any drinking myself. Definitely not on days I work, sometimes not even on my days off. Can’t get the smell of cheap liquor off my clothes, why would I want to drink it?” 

“Well-ll-ll” Tony let the word drag out over his tongue. “What if I offered to buy you a drink that _wasn’t_ cheap?” 

“You wanna buy me a not cheap drink.” Clint plucked a fresh toothpick from the box and chewed on it for a second. “Yeah alright. Guess I don’t have anything to lose.” 

“Really?” Tony absolutely lit up, and aw hell there went Clint’s stomach getting butterflies again. “Wonderful! Can I have your number?” 

“Sure, I could give the hottest, fanciest guy I’ve ever met my number.” Clint scribbled it out on a napkin and tried not to grimace when the cheap thing definitely left lint and fuzz all over the inside of Tony’s expensive jacket. “You really gonna call?” 

“Of course I am.” Tony pushed his empty glass back across the bar along with a fifty dollar bill. “Will that cover the drink?”

“It covers your drink and the drinks of half the people at the bar.” Clint pushed it back. “Give me ten and that’ll cover your drink and a tip for me putting up with your sparkly ass.” 

“I feel like ten isn’t enough.” 

“I feel like you drink unnecessarily expensive alcohol.” Clint raised his eyebrows and shook his head when Tony tried to give him the money back. “Ten bucks, man.” 

“Okay.” Tony patted at his pockets, then offered up his credit card instead. “Sorry, the fifty was the smallest bill I had.” 

“Of course it was.” Clint snorted and ran the card, tossed it back with the receipt. “Three dollar tip, rich boy. No more or I’ll feel weird, no less or I’ll think you’re cheapin’ out.”

“Three dollars.” Tony dutifully filled out the receipt and pushed it back. “I’ll call you?” 

“Or text.” Clint shrugged like he actually believed Tony would follow through. “Working nights means I sleep most of the day. Text is better.” 

“Okay then, I’ll text you.” Tony stood up and put his gloves back on. “Thanks for the drink, Clint. Talk to you soon.” 

“Sure you will.” Clint went back to wiping down the counter and filling drink orders, _ostensibly_ putting the definitely rich, definitely out of place, definitely gorgeous brunette out of his mind. He was never going to get a text, Tony would never scuff his shiny shoes on their sticky floor again and a week from now Clint would be laughing about the guy who thought a vodka cranberry cost something close to fifty dollars while Tony would be… doing whatever it was guys who wore diamond cuff links did. 

_Whatever_. 

It was almost three am before Clint finished cleaning up and locked the bar behind him. He lived close enough to walk to his apartment, an upstairs unit in the worlds sketchiest building that baked in the summer and froze in the winter but was just cheap enough to make sure he could put all his tips away for a _someday_ plan of opening his own archery shop. Teaching class on Wednesdays at the YMCA was his passion but it sure as hell didn’t pay the bills, so all tips went into the _someday_ jar and Clint kept hoping the little run down shop near the beach didn’t ever sell cos it would be perfect for a shooting range and tiny office. 

Tonight’s haul was close to three hundred-- more than a week night but less than he’d make on Saturday-- and Clint grinned a little when he realized he’d need a new _someday_ jar cos this one was getting full. 

Someday was looking a little closer every single--

_*buzz buzz*_

“Who the fuck is texting me at three am?” Clint dug his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the screen. “Who the--” 

**From Unknown Number** : _Clint, this is Tony. We met in the bar tonight, I ordered the single malt originally, you gave me Jack Daniels and then a vodka cranberry and we argued briefly about the cost of a drink when it came time to pay. Do you remember me?_

Clint huffed out a laugh and dragged a hand down his face. _Was this guy for real?_

 **From Clint** : _Tony, you are the only person I’ve ever met who wears shoes that shiny and takes two hours to drink half a shot of Jack. Of course I remember you._

 **From Tony** : _Oh good! I wasn’t sure if I made an impression!_

Clint grinned at his phone and tossed it onto the bed so he could strip down, threw bar smelling jeans and shirt into the laundry machine so he’d remember to do it tomorrow, and hopping in the shower to get rid of the cigarette smoke in his hair and skin. 

A quick wash and he was out again, carelessly patting dry and flopping face first onto the bed to check his phone. 

**From Tony** : _Anyway. I’m sure you work tomorrow, but I’m wondering if I could buy you a drink Sunday evening. Or Monday, in case you work on Sunday as well or have a day job. I’d be happy to pick you up, or we could meet somewhere if you have a favorite spot._

 **From Clint:** _Serious_?

 **From Tony** : _Of course._

 **From Clint:** _Alright. Let’s meet. Sunday night._

**From Tony** : _Sure! I’ll send you my address Sunday afternoon, I’ll take you to my usual spot and introduce you around._

**From Clint** : _Sounds good._

The bartender fell asleep no more than a minute later, too exhausted to think about what horribly pretentious spot would be Tony’s favorite, too worn out to worry about the potential of being introduced around to anyone who was remotely as fancy as Tony…

...but not too tired to dream about dark eyes and the way Tony’s mouth curved around the glass when he drank. 

Fuckin’ hell, was he gonna start crushing on some posh boy? 

_That’d be just his luck._

************** 

Sunday night Clint wore his least holey jeans and the only button up he owned-- which was actually the one he’d full on stolen from Sam’s closet one day cos the other bartender had had the sheer _audacity_ to suggest his arms were bigger. Clint had snatched the button up and tried to hulk out to prove _he_ was bigger, the shirt had stayed together and Sam had laughed till he snorted, so Clint simply took the shirt as retribution and never gave it back. 

He looked better in purple than Sam did anyway, so no harm no foul. 

Anyway, _Sunday_. Least holey jeans and a purple button up, a little bit of water splashed through his hair, and an address that led to one of the biggest houses in one of the richest neighborhoods Clint had ever seen. 

“No fuckin’ way.” he muttered, looking back down at his phone and then up again at the mansion. “There’s gotta be another 10880 Malibu Point, this is _nuts_.” 

**From Clint:** _Hey I’m’a bout to walk up to some McMansion and make an ass of myself, you wanna call the prank off now? What’s your real address?_

 **From Tony** : _Oh hey! You’re here already? Shit I’ve gotta get dressed. No come on up, I’ll have my personal assistant get the door._

 **From Clint:** _WHAT_

The huge doors at the top of the walk opened silently and smoothly and Clint looked around in another bout of sheer disbelief before stepping inside. 

“Uh-- hello?” 

“Oh hello there!” The prettiest redhead Clint had ever seen in his life came to greet him, towering over him by at least three inches in massively high stilettos, her green eyes bright but tone exceptionally professional. “You must be Mr. Barton. I’m Pepper Potts, Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. I’m glad you found the house alright, our address is frequently confused with a house on the other end of Malibu.” 

“The other end of Malibu.” Clint repeated dully. “Uh sure. Listen could you tell me if this is some sorta joke? Cos I met Tony at a bar across the 101, and when he said we could meet for a drink I didn’t think I’d end up here on the beach. This is Tony Stark’s house?” 

“Yes.” Pepper’s placid expression didn’t even flicker. “Tony Stark, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. This is the correct address.” 

“Alright.” Clint rocked back onto his heels and looked up and up through the impressive foyer. “I get the diamond cuff links, now. Makes total sense.” 

“Yes well, Mr. Stark is very--” 

“Clint!” Tony came jogging down the stairs with a big smile, looking at least a hundred times more put together than Clint was even in plain black dress pants and a white button up. He’d been pretty enough in the dim bar lighting but in full daylight Clint could barely keep his jaw from unhinging in sheer shock. 

_What the hell, he was so damn good looking._

“Thanks Pep.” Tony had to stand on his toes to kiss Pepper on the cheek which was _literally_ hilarious, then turned his attention to Clint. “Hey, wow. You look great.” 

“I look great?” Clint scoffed, tugged at the sleeves of his button up self consciously. “You’re fuckin’ _hot_ in the daylight, Tony.” 

Utter silence in the foyer, Tony’s eyes wide enough to be comical, Ms. Potts clearly trying to hide a laugh, Clint glancing back at the door and wondering if a quick leap off the cliff would save him from being this damn embarrassed. 

“Uh...what I meant was--” 

“I think that’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me.” Tony finally decided, the words bubbling over a laugh. “Oh man, you make me wish I’d unbuttoned my shirt to my navel, what on earth would you have said then?” 

“It doesn't matter.” Ms. Potts interrupted. “Because I refuse to let you leave the house looking like a Chippendales dancer. Now, I’m off for the evening but Happy knows he needs to be available for your date. I’ll see you both in the morning.” 

“Thanks Ms. Potts.” Tony blew her a kiss at the same time Clint asked, “You’ll see us _both_ in the morning?” 

But Ms. Potts was gone, hurrying away on those sky scraper heels and Tony was turning to Clint with an expectant smile, chin tipped so he was looking through his lashes, cheeks lightly flushed. 

“Ready for that drink?” He grabbed Clint’s hand and squeezed, and before Clint could say anything either way, Tony was towing him down the hall and through the atrium of the house to get to the back doors and the circular driveway where a limo was waiting. 

“Heya Happy.” Tony waved at the driver and tugged Clint along faster. “This is Clint Barton, Clint this is my best friend turned driver turned head of security. He’s going to be taking us on our date tonight, Happy just take my normal route okay?” 

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark. Mr. Barton. Should be a real beautiful night.” 

“So this is a date now?” Clint’s ass had never been on anything as soft as the seats in the limo and if he wasn’t so distracted by Tony sitting next to him instead of on the adjoining seat, he might have taken a minute and sank into the buttery leather. “I thought we were just getting a drink.” 

“That didn’t sound like a date to you?” Tony looked genuinely surprised and Clint sort of loved him for it. “Oh well, my intention was to definitely ask you out on a _date_.” 

“Sure sure.” Clint slouched a little in the seat and tried not to feel so damn self consciously out of place. “So who are the people you’re going to introduce me to?” 

“Oh just Pepper and Happy.” Tony pushed a button and a bottle of scotch appeared from...somewhere. Another button and a set of glasses smoothly folded out from a wall panel. “They’re the only two people I care about. Well and Rhodey, but he’s out saving the world so you won’t meet him anytime soon. Maybe next year.” 

“Next year...cos we’ll be still be hanging out, right?” Clint nodded and watched with a critical eye as Tony poured the liquor. “Huh. You’re good at that.” 

“Being raised like I was means I have to know how to talk to the press and how to properly pour two fingers of single malt.” Tony put a small napkin under a glass and passed it to Clint. “I bet you have all the same skills.” 

“I’ve never talked to the press in my life.” 

“No, but I watched you with the customers at the bar and you’re great with them.” Tony replied easily, clinked their glasses together in a _cheers_ and took a sip. “And you pour a mean shot of Jack Daniels.” 

Clint grinned and took a sip of his own drink, _mm-hmm_ ing in approval at the taste before finally asking, “So what are we doing tonight?” 

“Driving and drinking.” Tony settled comfortable into his seat, turned slightly so his knee bumped Clint’s thigh. “Happy will take us along the beach so we have something pretty to look at in case the conversation fails but I don’t think that’ll happen. I think we have lots to talk about, lots to find out about each other.”

“I feel like we don’t have all that much in common.” Clint was feeling uncomfortable, but he cleared his throat and offered, “Hey, we could play twenty questions but guess each other’s answer and drink anytime we get it wrong.” 

“You want to play a drinking game with fifty year old single malt scotch whisky?” Tony raised his eyebrows and Clint raised them right back in an open challenge. “Okay fine, you know what? Game on.” 

“Game on.” Clint tried and failed to quiet the thrill that ran through his center. “First question’s mine-- What’s your middle name? I bet it's _hottie body_.” 

“Hottie body.” Tony’s dark eyes sparked with laughter. “Not even close, so drink up, Mr. Bartender. It’s Edward. My turn.” 

********

….By the time twenty questions and most of the bottle was exhausted, Happy had driven the at least a hundred miles up the Highway 1, parked long enough for a _very_ drunk Clint and Tony to stumble out and get gelato from an adorable little shop, and then began the hour and a half drive back to the Malibu house.

“This is delicious.” Clint said around a mouthful of raspberry gelato. “Who knew ice cream could get fancy?” 

“Fancy?” Tony snorted. “You picked the most boring flavor in there! Try this one, this is real gelato.” he offered Clint a bite from his cup, then rolled his eyes when the bartender hesitated. “It’s _Zabaglione_ , cream and sweet wine. Quit looking at it like it’s poison.” 

“That word wasn’t even English.” Clint curled a lip away from the gelato. “I tend to only eat food I can pronounce. Pizza. Hamburger. Cup o’ Soup noodles.” 

“Neanderthal.” Tony huffed. “It’s _Zabaglione_ , Italian. My Mama was Italian, _la famiglia Carbonell_. I love this flavor and you should at least try it. Open up and say _ahhhh_.” 

It was definitely the alcohol that had Clint snort laughing at the innuendo and opening his mouth wide enough to make Tony giggle before finally tasting the gelato. 

“It’s delicious, right?” Tony demanded and Clint swallowed before finally agreeing, “I guess it’s alright.” 

“It’s delicious.” the pretty brunette inched closer and offered another bite. “Admit. Say it’s delicious. Say I chose better gelato than yours.” 

“You haven’t even tasted mine!” Clint protested, and shoved a big bite of the raspberry in his mouth. “You can’t judge until you taste-- _mmph_!” 

He stopped talking when Tony jolted forward and crushed their mouths together, didn’t dare breathe for the few seconds it took for Tony to pull away, and stared wide eyed when Tony sat back in his chair and stared right back. 

“Uh.” Tony wet his lips anxiously. “Sorry. That was-- we can blame that on the alcohol, I guess. I um-- sorry, I should have asked before tasting you like that, sorry I-- _oh_!” 

This time it was _Tony_ that startled when Clint jammed a huge bite of gelato into his mouth and then reached for him with both hands and dragged him into a hungry kiss. Tony giggled sort of shamelessly into the kiss when Clint bit at his bottom lip to demand he open, when raspberry and cream flavors blended alongside twisting tongues as the kiss got deeper, wetter. 

“Bring that fancy ass over here.” Clint palmed low over Tony’s hips and then grabbed at his but and yanked him up and into his lap, groaning in appreciation when Tony immediately moved to straddle his thighs and settled in comfortable. “ _God_ , that’s good.” he gave up Tony’s mouth to lick and nip down his throat. “Who knew posh guys kissed so good?” 

Tony’s laugh was a little shaky, his fingers tight at Clint’s shoulders as he shuddered in the muscular arms. “You should see what _else_ we posh guys do so good.” 

*********

**Chapter Notes:**

> _I miss writing IronHawk! I love their dynamic!_
> 
> _Tony in this story is the equivalent of that Arrested Development gif: “It’s a banana, what could it possibly cost, ten dollars?” and I love him._


	2. Chapter 2

**From Tony** : _I need a plus one to a thing tonight. Are you working?_

 **From Clint** : _Not on a Tuesday, nah. Is this like, another drive down the highway where we can make out over gelato? Cos hell I’d be down for that even if I was working._

 **From Tony** : _Wellllllll we could certainly add a drive down the highway so we can make out over gelato the itinerary??_

Tony ran his thumb over the phone screen as he waited for Clint’s reply, a smile pulling at his lips and core clenching in tight anticipation. Their first date of driving and gelato had ended with Clint grabbing at his ass and grinding up into him, kisses sharp and a little messy as they sucked at each other’s tongues. Turned out Tony liked being manhandled just fine, and though they’d parted before clothes had come off, there’d been a minute where Clint had pushed him down onto the long seat and rutted _dirty_ against him with the taste of liquor and gelato on his lips and Tony had-- Tony had--

\--alright well, it had almost been a pants ruining incident all the way around. 

_Delicious_. 

**From Clint** : _What do I wear to be a plus one at a thing tonight?_

 **From Tony** : _I don’t know, normal stuff?_

 **From Clint** : _See you soon_

As it turned out, ‘normal stuff’ for Clint was jeans and a hoodie while ‘normal stuff’ for Tony was a well tailored suit in a shade of expensive charcoal gray and Clint felt utterly _foolish_ in his gear right up until Tony grabbed at him and pulled him in for a heart stopping kiss. 

“Hey.” Sparkly, sparkly eyes. “You look good enough to lick gelato off of.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me.” Clint leaned in and kissed Tony back, a few inches of height difference making the motion way more fun than seemed legal. “I am _way_ underdressed. Why is it that normal for you means GQ magazine worthy and normal for me is whatever clothes happen to be clean?” 

“Oh no, these are my only clean clothes right now too.” Tony assured him confidently. “My other gray suit is being taken in a little more so it was my only option.” 

“Oh your _other_ gray suit.” Clint climbed into the limo after the brunette. “Of course, what was I thinking? Is this really normal for you?” 

“It’s...casual?” Tony looked down at his suit, then narrowed his eyes defensively. “I’m not even wearing a waist coat!” 

“He’s not even wearing a waist coat!” Clint mocked, and when Tony only laughed, he reached out and pulled the little brunette in for another kiss. “Kay but _seriously_. I’m way under dressed. This is almost embarrassing.” 

“No, no you’re fine! No one’s even gonna care.” Tony promised, and he kept right on promising it as they got in the limo and rolled into Beverly Hills to attend an engagement party for some celebrity Clint had only seen on the movie screens. Everyone was in suits and floor length dresses, even the waiters were dressed in tuxedos and while Clint’s jeans and hoodie had felt out of place in Tony’s foyer, here at this place he might as well had been a bit ol’ _shit stain_ for all the looks he got. 

“Jesus, Tony.” Clint shoved his hands in his pockets, then into his hoodie, then out to fold his arms. “You said normal things! Why did you let me keep wearing my hoodie?!”

“Because you look great in it.” Tony pressed at his hand idly while waving at a woman in a shockingly low cut gown. “Why are you stressing out? There’s barely any paparazzi here so it doesn’t matter and honestly--” he elbowed Clint lightly. “--honestly you could be wearing that dress right there, isn’t it the worst thing you’ve ever seen?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh because you’re a sorta catty bitch, or to dig myself a hole and hide.” Clint didn’t like feeling out of place, and he knew it came out sharp in the words. “I should just go, Tony. You should’a told me it was a birthday party for some celebrity, I don’t really want to be here when they all start wondering who I am.” 

“Are you serious?” Tony frowned up at him. “Clint, you look great. Everyone’s looking cos you’re handsome, not because you’re wearing a hoodie. They’re all probably wondering who my new boyfriend is since the only thing I manage to keep private is my love life. Don’t worry about it. Have a spinach puff and relax. I’ll find us something to drink.” 

“I don’t even know what a spinach puff is!” Clint didn’t mean to sound panicky over an _hor d’ouevre_ but it came out a little bit anyway. “Tony we should just--” 

“Here, it’s a puff pastry, cream cheese, bacon, spinach and feta.” Tony didn’t seem to notice Clint’s discomfort as he plucked a bite sized piece off a tray and offered it up. “Try it.” 

“Tony--” 

“I thought you learned your lesson with the gelato.” There went his cute nose a crinkling up and Clint muttered a curse when his _run away_ instinct faltered. “I always choose good food. Try it. For me.”

“You gonna feed it to me then lick it outta my mouth?” Clint challenged, half serious and half hoping to ease the tension from his shoulders. “Cos I could be down for that.” 

“Let’s take some back in the limo and see what happens.” Tony retorted and he looked so pleased with himself that Clint didn’t have the heart to tell him just how uncomfortable he was with the whole thing. 

“Sure, Tony.” 

“You’ll get used to this.” Tony kept a tight hold on Clint’s hand as he made his rounds through the room, smiling and waving and making small talk. “I used to be super nervous at parties, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own ego and importance, they don’t pay any attention to anyone else. It gets easier, really.” 

...It didn’t get easier though. 

No matter how excited Tony was every time Clint showed up for a date, no matter how heated their kisses got in the aftermath, no matter how Tony laughed and pressed close and Clint kept dreaming about that sweet mouth and drinking expensive liquor in the back seat of some fancy limo, it never got any easier. 

“You’re here with Tony?” The guy looked like a weasel-- greasy, thin, that sort of smarmy grin that made Clint think of used car salesman and cheesy commercials from the nineties. “Wow that’s-- that’s _interesting_.” 

“How’s it interesting?” Clint didn’t know if he’d ever really like champagne, but he sipped it dutifully and tried to appear at least a little engaged in the conversation. 

“Oh just because he brings everyone to these things.” He was charming in sort of an icky way, and Clint could just _tell_ if the guy came to his bar, he’d have to keep an eye on the girls’ drinks. “Last year he brought the Senator’s daughter, a few months ago it was one of the basketball players, you know--” he gulped at his champagne and took another off a passing waiters tray. “--you know, one of the tall ones?” 

“...sure?” 

“I just can’t figure out how he even met you!” _There_ was the slice of cruelty, almost mocking, and Clint smoothed down the crease on his one good button up and tried not to get upset. “It’s like a Cinderella story, right? You finally met your Prince Charming and Tony met his... scullery maid?”

“Clint!” Tony came back from talking with someone and Clint tried to smile at him, first hoping it wasn’t obvious how miserable he was and then endlessly gratified when Tony promptly turned to the stranger and announced, “Justin, pretty sure we established I don’t want you anywhere near me. I wouldn’t have even come tonight if I knew you were here.” 

“I was just trying to get to know your boyfriend.” The guy-- Justin-- said smoothly, and Tony was almost hilariously rude replying-- “Yeah, well take your slicked back hair and find someone else to schmooze on. You feel greasy even from a distance.” 

Justin gaped at them, and Tony turned his nose in the air and hurried away with Clint at his side. 

“Catty bitch.” he laughed quietly and Tony stood on his toes to kiss Clint right on the mouth. “One second you’re posh, next thing you’re practically a mean girl.” 

“Yeah, well I hate him.” Tony shrugged uncaringly, and held up his hand so a waiter would bring him another champagne glass. “You having fun?” 

“I--” Clint hesitated, then lied right through his teeth so he wouldn’t miss the sparkle in Tony’s eyes. “Yeah. Sure am.” 

He _wasn’t_ having fun though, and things never got easier. 

In fact, the more times they went out, the harder it was for Clint to stomach just how different his and Tony’s lives were, and the differences crept up and sank into his heart until he could barely enjoy the make out sessions and the way Tony moaned his name when things got _fun_. 

Kissing would never change the fact that Tony’s mansion was bigger than Clint’s entire apartment block or that his day to day outfit probably cost more than Clint’s rent. They laughed together and damn did Clint love to hold Tony’s hand, but the bartender had three pairs of jeans and six shirts and he had yet to see Tony wear the same outfit twice. And if _those_ differences weren’t enough, Clint had started seeing his own life reflected against Tony’s and seeing just how little he had, how small his own aspirations were and that sort of _sucked_.

His apartment was small but doable, but next to Tony’s house it seemed like a shithole. There was nothing wrong with a shot of Jack Daniels but after sipping which ever fancy bottle Tony had in the car or at his office, Clint found himself grimacing over the taste of his go to favorite. Seeing Tony’s clothes made him want to go shopping, but that meant taking money out of the _someday_ jar and Clint didn’t want to sacrifice his someday for a date night and that _sucked_.

Having his life turned upside down by someone so far out of his league sucked. Going places with Tony when he knew the crowd around them was wondering how the hell they’d hooked up and why the hell Tony was with a guy like him sucked. Feeling like he couldn’t invite the guy back to his place for a hook up or even for a movie _sucked_. 

And eventually-- eventually all the things that _sucked_ just wore Clint right down. 

**From Tony** : _Drive tonight? I can pick you up if you text me your address. Leaving Pasadena now and starving, let’s get dinner at that steakhouse we went to last week-- the one with the butter all sculpted into swans? We can eat it in the car before maybe taking this from just kissing to something a little more hands on. Feel like I’m gonna chafe if we don’t do something lubrication quickly._

 **From Clint** : _Working tonight._

He wasn’t working tonight. 

**From Tony** : _I got an event to go tonight, want to be my plus one? It’s on the beach, we can walk out and look for seashells afterwards, steal a bottle of champagne and get drunk beneath the pier._

 **From Clint** : _How expensive will the champagne be?_

 **From Tony:** We _could be absolute dicks and take the most expensive one. Waste like a hundred and fifty dollars a glass just to see if the stars start spinning once we’re done with the bottle._

 **From Clint** : _Maybe some other time_

There wasn’t another time, not for _weeks_. Clint pulled double shifts and slept through phone calls, acted he didn’t see text messages and pretended like he didn’t miss Tony’s mouth or their laughter or the way Tony blushed when Clint called him pretty. 

**From Tony** : _Busy tonight? I miss your face. And your mouth._

 **From Clint** : _Working_

“Bullshit.” Clint startled up from his drink when Tony spoke right in front of him. “You aren’t working.” 

“Tony.” he swallowed hard, glanced around the mostly empty bar and pushed his beer away. “Hey what-- what are you doing here?” 

“Well.” Tony shoved his hands in his coat pocket and bit at his bottom lip. “I _was_ sort of wondering why you were dodging my calls and ignoring my text messages. Then Ms. Potts informed me that since I’ve never worked a steady job in my life, I didn’t understand how mentally and physically taxing it could be to take double shifts on a regular basis, which is fair. I don’t understand any of that. I have no idea how exhausting it is to work with people at all, much less to do it for sixteen hours a day. And that was fine. You’re working, it’s fine.” 

“Yeah I was--” another hard swallow. “Tony, I was working. A lot.” 

“But you’re not working _now_.” Tony pointed out, and there was a flash of hurt in those dark eyes that cut Clint right to his soul. “Which makes me think you weren’t working a bunch of other times you turned me down. I don’t want to think that and even if I _do_ think that it’s not like it matters because you have every right to turn me down for a date but um--” 

Tony was talking fast now, the words spilling out quick and anxious. “--if you’re tired of me or don’t want to see me anymore, could you just tell me? So I stop making an absolute idiot of myself texting you again?”

“Tony--” 

“I don’t really get social dynamics.” Tony rushed on before Clint could finish. “Ask Pepper or Happy, unless you hit me over the head with the obvious, I tend not to notice because my brain’s moving a thousand miles an hour and I’m just busy. I’m just busy and I forget to do normal things like check in or pay attention to subtle cues. I can play it up for the camera and I can relax when I’m home but anything else in between I’m terrible at.” 

“ _Tony_.” 

“I came down here to get a vodka cranberry and tip you some outrageous amount just so I had an excuse to see you.” Tony tried to smile but it wasn’t anything near his usual cheer. “I didn’t come down here to try and catch you in… in anything. I didn’t think you were lying to me and I still don’t really want to say that at all, but now I see that you’re not working so--” he gestured towards the beer lamely, cheeks flushing a dull red. “-- so I’ll just go.” 

“Tony wait.” For wearing such tight pants, Tony could sure move _quick_ and Clint had to all but run to catch him before he ducked into the waiting limo outside the bar. “Hey hey hey, just wait a second. Wait a second.” 

“I uh-- I’d much rather deal with the embarrassment of me not knowing you weren’t interested anymore _alone_.” Tony said tightly. “Thanks.” 

“Nope. Stop.” Clint grabbed the door of the limo before Tony could close it. “Please just listen to me.” 

“Clint.” Tony looked absolutely miserable, and Clint had a flash back to that very first impression of him-- rich, wholly out of place, absolutely gorgeous, and somehow maybe a little naive. _How much could a vodka cranberry cost, fifty dollars?_ “Clint, please let me go so I can lick my wounds in peace.” 

“Nope.” This time Clint just slid right into the car next to Tony, crowded him up against the back seat and kissed him thoroughly, framed that pretty face in both hands and _kissed_ him until Tony was melting against him and sighing slowly. 

“Alright, you listening?” Clint ran his thumb lightly over Tony’s jawline. “Here’s the thing. I like you a lot. A _lot_ a lot. But the places you take me and the events we go to-- hell, even the gelato thing. Tony, you’re out of my league. Way too expensive for my tastes. And eventually--” 

He sighed and let go of Tony, ran both hands through his hair. “Eventually it gets tough to be the poor guy charity case you drag to those things.” 

“Poor guy charity case.” Tony repeated slowly. “What does that even mean?” 

“Shit.” Clint scrubbed at his face wearily. “Okay, it’s like this. That jacket could pay my rent for a few months. I’ve never seen you wear the same outfit, but you’ve seen all of my shirts at least twice at this point. I’d never heard of gelato before you bought me some and last time we went to one of your friend’s houses, everyone looked at me like I was a lost puppy you got out of the mud.” 

“No!” Tony protested. “Clint, everyone thinks you’re gorgeous! They’re looking at you like--” 

“--like they can’t figure out what the fuck I’m doing with you.” he finished firmly. “It _gets_ to me, alright. You and me come from two different worlds and no matter how fun kissing you is, at some point I won’t want to sit at a table full of politicians and lawmakers who don’t give a damn about working class schmoes like me or eating at a restaurant where I can’t even pronounce the dishes or the worst dressed person at the party. It’s not fun, Tony. It just isn’t.”

“I’ll...buy you clothes?” Tony offered uncertainly, and Clint blew out a deep breath-- “ That’s not the point.” 

“Or we can ask for a translated menu.” he offered again. “All my favorite restaurants have one. It’s like going out for sushi and they give you chopsticks but if you ask for a fork, no one cares? Same thing.” 

“Okay except I’ve never had sushi.” Clint tried to be patient because Tony was just so obviously clueless and it was both endearing and sort of terrible. “Just listen to me, okay?” 

“I know politicians are the worst, but actually talking to them about the state of living in some of our poorer areas will force them to see what needs to be changed! If everyone at the table is the upper 1% then nothing will ever--” 

“Tony Tony Tony!” Clint raised his voice, grimaced when Happy levelled a glare at him through the rearview mirror. “Tony baby listen. Just listen. I’m fuckin’ crazy about you, but it’s not fun to be the person that I am at all the places you go. It’s just not fun. And honestly.. Honestly it’s a little boring.” 

“You’re bored.” Tony blinked. “With me.” 

“I’m bored being places where I don’t understand the conversation, the dynamics or the food.” Clint said emphatically. “Your lifestyle is something I couldn’t touch even if I made millions of dollars of year, that’s how far apart we are. You represent some sort of existence that I could never understand even if I _wasn’t_ some punky bartender from the shit part of town.” 

“Clint. You-- you aren’t--” 

“I am.” he interrupted, not unkindly. “That’s who I am and that’s who you are and it’s fine, Tony. You’re great but I’m gonna be bored just for the sake of not having a chance in hell of fitting in with you. And I don’t want to waste your time so--” 

He shrugged miserably. “M’real sorry, baby. But I gotta ask-- aren’t you bored with me? I don’t speak any cool languages, don’t do much more than crack jokes and try to feel you up. You’re brilliant and funny and amazing so-- so you gotta be bored with me too, right?” 

“No.” Tony did another one of those big blinks. “No, Clint I’m not bored with you. I am _fascinated_ by you. Everyone I hang out with is just different shades of plastic and you are a thousand times more interesting than them. I’m not bored with you but you-- you’re bored with me?” 

“Shit, it sounds so bad when you say it like that.” Clint groaned and slumped back into the seat. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Tony.” 

“You quit answering my calls and texts because you’re bored.” Tony grabbed at his phone and pulled up a travel website. “Where do you want to go so you’re not bored? Have you been to Tahiti? What about the Bahamas? Do you have a passport? Let’s go somewhere where you aren’t _bored_ and keep dating. Or at least kissing. If you’re bored being my plus ones at these events then we’ll just stop going, it’s as simple as that.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Clint argued quietly. “Didn’t you hear what I said about our lives being so far apart? The whole Cinderella thing has been fun, but c’mon Tony. I’m more suited to cleaning out fireplaces than I am walking the red carpet. Nothing’s going to change that.” 

Then even softer, “Tony this all makes me real insecure, and that’s hard to admit. I’ve always had to do everything for myself and I was feeling really good about where I was heading in life. Meeting you made me feel even better for a little bit but the fact is, being _me_ \--” he thumped at his chest. “--in your world makes a fella really insecure and that's on me. Not you. This isn’t your fault.” 

“...sort of feels like my fault.” Tony whispered and Clint whispered back, “Nah honey, you’re just sunshine and sparkles and fancy. Not your fault.” 

They were quiet a moment together, holding hands though neither had realized they’d reached for each other. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” Tony’s bottom lip poked out a little while he thought. “But I don’t want you to feel bad for being _you_ just cos our lives are different. So how do we fix it?” 

“You want to fix it?” Clint raised his eyebrows. “I just told you everything about your life makes me insecure and fairly cranky and you want to _fix_ it?” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” Tony repeated. “Do you want to lose me?” 

“Fuck.” Clint leaned in and kissed him again. “No. No I don’t want to lose you. How do we fix this? Tell me what to do to fix it.” 

“I’ll stop doing the red carpet thing.” Tony decided slowly. “Or just take Pepper or whatever so I don’t have to go alone. It’s not fun for me, it’s just _expected_ of me so it won’t even be like missing out on a date. Just… work. And I can save my fun dates for you.” 

“Okay?” 

“And why don’t _you_ start picking dates?” A smile bright enough to be almost blinding. “I haven’t even seen your apartment! You pick out dates for us and that way it’s always something you are comfortable doing, and it’s something new for me!” 

Tony was so excited, but Clint still felt the need to warn him, “My idea of date night is going to see the monster trucks at the mud track and pounding cheap beer while screaming at the drivers like my opinion matters in the least. Do you even own anything you can get mud on without having it dry cleaned?” 

“Um.” Tony looked down at his slacks. “No. But that can be remedied? I could buy some denim.” 

“The word is _jeans_.” 

“And a paisley print button up?” 

“Flannel with a few buttons missing.” 

“A cowboy hat?” 

“Please god wear a cowboy hat.” Clint finally smiled and Tony smiled too, leaned in slow and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering your calls, Tony.” 

“I’m sorry I’m oblivious to the point of not noticing that it would be mind numbingly terrible to hang out at events where nothing even remotely interesting was happening.” Tony kissed him again, slipped slim fingers up Clint’s thigh and kneaded at the muscle there with barely disguised intent. “So. When are we going to see monster trucks?” 

“Friday?” 

“It’s a date.” 

************

As it turned out, monster trucks were quite possibly the most exciting things in the entire world. 

Tony’s attempt at jeans and flannel and a cowboy hat was a still adorably fitted, most likely expensive, clearly designer effort but at least it wasn’t _slacks_ so Clint gave him a pass. He did grab some mud from the parking lot and smack Tony’s ass hard enough to leave a handprint --and maybe to grope just a little bit-- to give it a little more _authenticity_ though. 

“Ouch!” Tony shrieked and grabbed at his butt, slapped Clint’s hand away. “What was that for?” 

“It’s not real monster truck rally apparel if you don’t have some mud on it, Tony.” Clint pushed away Tony’s money and paid for the tickets himself. “Standard operating procedure.” 

“Oh well in that case--” Tony picked up some dirt and reached over to smear it on Clint’s zipper, lingering way longer than necessary to make sure it spread all over the front of his pants. “How’s that?” 

“Tony.” Clint looked down at his jeans with a long suffering sigh. “What the fuck.” 

“If only makes sense if my ass is dirty, then your front is.” Tony widened his eyes and waggled his eyebrows. “Right?” 

“Is that your way of telling me you’re a bottom?” Clint retorted, and Tony shot back, “If you haven’t figured it out yet, then you’re more oblivious than me!” 

“Damn it.” Clint practically cackled with laughter, fit his hands at Tony’s little waist and dragged him in for a sloppy sort of kiss. “If you weren’t so cute in the world's most expensive cowboy hat, you’d be in trouble for talking like that in public.” 

“I’d be happy to talk like this in the back of my limo or in the front seat of your car.” Tony said dryly, and Clint laughed all over again. “What do we eat here? I feel like spinach puffs aren’t on the menu.” 

“Nah.” Clint put his fingers in his mouth and whistled out loud to a few of his friends. “At a rally we eat really big hot dogs, greasy fuckin’ fries and drink cheap beer. Sound good?” 

“If I can lick it off your lips?” Tony’s voice went low, velvet soft and sweet and Clint forgot how to _breathe_. “It all sounds amazing.” 

It really was fun-- engines loud enough to rattle the stands, dirt flying and the crowd screaming, the food basically terribly but also delicious in the way that stadium food had to be, the beer warm but going down smooth when they were thirsty from shouting so much. 

It was _fun_ and Tony laughed hard enough to make his sides hurt, Clint smiled till he thought his cheeks would crack and when the truck Tony was rooting for absolutely devastated his competitor, Tony jumped up and crammed a kiss to Clint’s mouth that tasted like mustard and nachos and liquor and it was perfect. 

It was a far cry from fifty year old scotch, filet mignon and hor d'oeuvres, but it was _perfect_. 

And afterwards when the stadium was emptying and everyone was drunk and cheering and talking about an afterparty in the parking lot or up in the woods close by, Clint hooked his fingers in Tony’s belt loops and pulled him in for a kiss that said a whole lot more than all their other ones had said and Tony nodded, eyes shining and smile stretching wide. 

“I live close.” Clint suggested slowly, knowingly. “And I’m sober enough to drive. Come home with me.” 

“Geez, Mr. Bartender. I thought you’d never ask.” 

Any misgivings Clint had about inviting Tony to his apartment quickly fell by the wayside when it became obvious they were far too busy kissing and touching each other to care about their surroundings. 

“Hold on, hold on--” Clint grunted trying to find his keys while Tony was sucking bruises to his jaw, down his neck and biting sharp at his pulse. “Ouch! Fuckin’ vampire, quit trying to suck my blood!” 

“Okay then.” Tony giggled and shoved his hands up under Clint’s shirt, raked his nails over his abs. “Give me something else to suck on.” 

“Fuck.” Clint practically fell through his door, barely managed to kick it shut and lock it again before Tony was back on him. “Fuck, listen to the mouth on you. Did you learn that at your Ivy league school or in the boardroom?” 

“Definitely the Ivy League school.” Tony yanked at Clint’s shirt and then grimaced when the buttons went flying. “Oops. I’ll replace that.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Clint tossed his shirt away and groaned when Tony immediately bent to tweak and pull at his nipples, leaned in to suck at him and use just enough teeth to make him hiss. “Yeah, especially if you keep doin’ that, d-don’t stop.” 

“Not gonna stop and also definitely going to replace your shirt.” Tony shoved Clint down on the bed and scrambled over to follow him. “Look at your arms, did you get all this from your archery? Who knew Robin Hood was so ripped?”

“Oh my god!” Clint laughed out loud, wriggled out from beneath Tony and flipped him to the bed. “Yes, muscles from archery. Your vulgar mouth from IVY league schools. We’re perfectly matched.” 

“We are perfectly matched.” Tony wriggled impatiently as Clint worked at his shirt, and reached down to yank at his belt. “I can’t tell if it’s the cheap beer making me horny of the fact that every time one of those trucks revved I felt it right up my butt or--” 

“Tony!” Clint was dying of laughter, hardly able to kiss through his chuckles, torn between fending off grabby hands or giving into the roaming touches because it felt so good to finally be here with his posh little boyfriend. 

“Wait--” Tony pulled away from a kiss and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Wait, did you just call me your posh little boyfriend?” 

“Uhhhh….” Clint blinked a few times. “Did I say it out loud?” 

“About as loud as I said you should give me something to suck on.” Tony’s eyes were wide. “Boyfriends? We’re dating for real now?” 

“Well I mean.” he hesitated with his hands at Tony’s zipper. “Aren’t we? You grabbed mud and rubbed it on my dick, I feel like that’s courtin’ behavior at least somewhere.” 

Tony’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter as he tried to focus on the moment. “I also fed you fancy foods and half century old scotch.” 

“But you didn’t try to get in my pants until after nachos and stadium beer.” Clint countered. “But I can’t figure out why we stopped getting nekkid to argue about this.”

“We’re not arguing.” Tony hooked his leg around Clint’s thigh and ground up against him, groaning when their cocks dragged into one another. “So long as you know I was very seriously trying to get in your pants the night we had gelato. Stadium beer had nothing to do with it. Just you. I am crazy about you.” 

“I’m crazy about you too.” Clint bent and kissed him, long and slow and adoring. “Even if our lives are very different and you have no idea how much a vodka cranberry costs.” 

“Maybe you should have been focusing more on how good my ass looked in my pants that night instead of fussing about me not knowing what things cost.” Tony huffed when Clint went back to yanking down his pants. “What are your priorities, Clint, _sheesh_.” 

“My priorities are showing you that I don’t give a damn how much money you got, or how fancy your clothes are.” Clint finally got the pants off, but he reached up to press the cowboy hat back into Tony’s hair. “Just that I like you for you and I promise to never be bored so long as we’re together alright?” 

“I don’t want you to be bored with me.” Tony whispered, staying Clint’s hand at his briefs. “And I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you were trying to say before. I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure or uncomfortable with my life, sometimes I forget that not everyone has--”

“Tony.” Clint shut him up with another kiss. “Stop being posh for two seconds, huh? You already apologized, I apologized, we made up over monster trucks and now I’ve got you half naked. Why are you still talking?” 

“Because you haven’t given me anything to suck on yet?” 

_“Open up.”_

**************

The guest bartender on Tuesday night was posh and a little fancy, utterly charming but literally terrible at making drinks. He spent more time flirting than he did pouring, wanted to chat up every patron while trying to talk them into trying something higher quality than Jim Bean, and be-bopped along to the music with distracting little wiggles that wreaked absolute havoc on Clint’s sanity.

“Tony.” Clint whipped him in the butt with a towel. “Less chatting, more pouring. I’m not gonna split tips with you if you’re not working.” 

“But my tip jar’s full.” Tony nodded towards the almost overflowing jar. “Everyone here loves me.” 

“Yeah, cos you’re gorgeous and clearly too high end for this joint.” Clint poured two beers and sent them scooting down the bar. “How do you feel about your first experience with a real job?” 

“I had no idea bartending required cutting so many lemons.” Tony flipped the knife comfortably through his fingers and set to work on a fresh pile of garnish. “Or that so many people spill their woes to the person behind the bar, I thought that was a movie stereotype. I have never eaten fries this greasy but they are delicious and I can see why everyone orders them from the kitchen.” 

“And?” Clint prompted. “What else?” 

“And I understand why you never want to hang out on work nights because I’ve been here for four hours and I’m absolutely exhausted. These shoes were a bad idea.” 

“I told you Crocs were the way to go.” 

“And I told you I’d rather die before wearing them.” Tony shrugged easily. “I’m fine de-poshing to some extent. I will never wear Crocs.” 

And then with a sly look towards Clint-- “Why would I, when I have a doting boyfriend who will rub my feet afterwards?” 

“Only if you stay the night at my place tonight.” Clint countered. “You gonna stay?” 

“Yeah, can we stay at my place this weekend though? I’ve got a thing I need a plus one for and Pepper’s unavailable so you’re up.” 

“Tony.” 

“We can smuggle pizza in?” he offered, and Clint added, “Gelato and making out afterwards?” 

Tony blushed a little bit. “Sounds like a date to me.” 

**********

_These two are absolute idiots and I love them._


End file.
